


Just a Taste

by owlboxes



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Come Swallowing, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon Fix-It, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Terror_exe Flash Fest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26141224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlboxes/pseuds/owlboxes
Summary: James is eager to show Francis the benefits of his dearest friend’s oral fixation.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames/Lt. Henry T. D. Le Vesconte
Comments: 33
Kudos: 56
Collections: @terror_exe Flash Fest





	Just a Taste

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the Terror_exe Flash Fest, inspired by this tweet:
> 
> _Tell us about le vesconte's oral fixation, why don't you, James?_

It began over a glass of port.

Or, two glasses, in the quiet of a drawing room after a long and tedious dinner. The fire - crackling some time ago, when they’d first stumbled in, shrugging out of their uniform coats in favor of entertaining a less stuffy atmosphere - had since burned low. Even so, the warmth coming off of the hearth was enough to have Francis considering whether or not he should loose the top button of his shirt, though the fireplace itself wasn’t entirely to blame.

Across from him, reclined on the sofa, James had long forgotten about his own glass, mostly empty and set on the side table just within his reach, his hands busy elsewhere. Henry’s mouth was warm against his neck, his weight not entirely unpleasant where he was half-splayed across James’ lap, legs draped over his own, an arm wrapped around his torso. One of James’ hands untucked Henry’s shirt from the waistband of his pants and wandered up to rest against the small of his back. He looked all kinds of smug as he lifted his head and met Francis’ gaze from across the room, his fingers sliding over Henry’s thigh to palm the growing bulge in the front of his trousers.

“Francis, have I ever told you about Dundy’s oral fixation?” James inquired, thumbing along the length of Henry’s prick through the heavy fabric.

“ _ Christ _ , Jas…” Henry’s voice was muffled against James’ neck, but it ran through Francis like fire, and he finally reached up, loosened his cravat, and the tight collar of his shirt.

“He’s not happy if his mouth isn’t occupied,” James continued, tongue darting out to wet his lips as one gentle squeeze had Henry groaning and bucking up into his touch. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Francis swallowed hard, nodded. He’d noticed, perhaps not in the way that James was implying, however the effect was just the same. He’d seen it, at command meetings, the way that Henry would eye a plate of biscuits, how his hand would twitch as he resisted the urge to reach out and take another, if only to keep his mouth occupied through tense conversation. During one such meeting - later, after the ice had claimed their ships - he’d caught the lieutenant with the end of his pen in his mouth, a subconscious thing as he listened intently through a lengthy count of the ships’ inventories. He always scraped his plate clean at dinner, politely sucked every last bit of sauce from his fork as if he were savoring the weight of it against his tongue just as much as he was enjoying the meal itself.

There were plenty of other things he’d noticed too: the way that Henry’s gaze lingered on James just a tad too long sometimes, or how they’d always seemed so comfortable touching one another. He knew of their time together under the hot sun south of the equator, likely more than Henry was even aware. James had always been vague about it, leaving out most details - that in itself suspicious for a man who so loved to hear himself talk. But that had told Francis all that he needed to know.

There had been a tinge of jealousy at first, when he’d finally dared to broach the subject. But as James had stumbled over explanations of the nature of their friendship and the few times they’d tumbled into bed together, that he loved Dundy as only a best friend possibly could and not the slightest more than that, Francis had found two things waiting for him: relief, and intrigue. They were both terribly handsome men, there was no denying that, both of them young and healthy (now, at least, months after they’d returned from the arctic) and his curiosity had led to conversations, negotiations, a plan.

That very evening, Francis had watched, anxiously clutching a cut-crystal glass so hard that he feared it might shatter, as James had approached his long-time friend, dared to whisper an invitation close to his ear. Henry had immediately raised a brow, looked straight in Francis’s direction, then back to James. And then, he’d nodded in agreement. Were he not in the habit of abstaining, ever since he’d suffered through withdrawal in the arctic, Francis would have poured himself something strong to ease the nerves that had been eating away at him for the remainder of the evening.

As it was, he was the only sober man in the room, though he certainly didn’t feel like it. Just watching them had his head spinning, drunk on lust rather than spirits, and when James spoke again, the rush of arousal accompanying his words was dizzying.

“He’ll take anything in his mouth, especially when he’s in the right mood,” James went on, as nonchalant as though he were talking about the weather, or something else equally undeserving of discretion. He demonstrated so, catching Henry’s chin and turning his flushed face forward, so that Francis could watch as, with his other hand, James traced his lips and then slid two long fingers past them. Obediently, Henry opened his mouth, took James’s fingers without a shred of hesitation and Francis could only imagine, given the way that he could see the muscles moving under his skin, the attentions that Henry’s tongue was eagerly providing. 

At what point Francis had decided that he’d had enough of watching, he couldn’t quite say - likely somewhere between the sound of Henry’s deep, if not muffled moan and the breathy laughter that had tumbled from James’ mouth as he pulled his fingers back and watched, bemused, as Henry chased them. Francis had moved from where he’d been settled and crossed the room in a few quick steps, overcome by the sight of them, and he occupied James’ own lips with a hard kiss, a hand tangling in his hair to draw his head back.

It was then that he felt his own hand grasped by the wrist, and before he’d had a chance to break the kiss, a clever tongue was lapping at his fingertips, drawing them into a warm, wet heat and he groaned aloud at the sensation. Henry was gazing up at him, eyes dark, the corners of his mouth tugged upward into something akin to a smirk, stretched around two of his fingers.

“Lovely, isn’t he?” James murmured, his breath warm against Francis’s cheek. “He doesn’t like to be called it, but that is exactly what he is.” He was given a look of disdain from his longtime friend, which only brought up another bubbling round of laughter. James, ever the petulant brat, leaned up to purr into Francis’s ear. “Fuck his mouth with your fingers. He enjoys that immensely.”

And indeed, as Francis pushed his fingers deeper, Henry groaned once more, all annoyance gone in favor of sucking lewdly at them. “That’s a good lad…” he encouraged, delighting in the way that Henry’s eyes fluttered closed - evidently, James was not the only one who enjoyed being praised. His tongue was hot under Francis’s fingertips, eager in how it laved the undersides of his digits when he withdrew them, only to plunge them in again, to be met with that same muffled, needy sound. And if his tongue and his lips felt so divine, working around his fingers alone…

When he finally pulled them free, they dragged along Henry’s lower lip, leaving a wet trail in their wake. Beside him, Francis could feel James shifting, murmuring something low and undoubtedly filthy into his friend’s ear, and then Henry was sliding from his lap, his knees thudding softly against the hardwood floor beneath them. It was strange, to see James taking up a role so vastly different from their usual dynamic, but not at all unpleasant. James pushed to his feet, waistcoat long since discarded and braces hanging from the waistline of his unbuttoned trousers, and he reached for Henry, cupped him under the chin and drew him forward to encourage him to nose against the bulge evidently tenting his shirt where it was still tucked in. Francis wasn’t certain he’d ever seen anything so enticing.

That quickly changed when James pulled the tails of his shirt loose and, as soon as his flushed cock was laid bare, Henry was on him like a man starving. Deft fingers curled around the base of him, that same clever tongue a flash of pink as it swept through the wetness beading at the tip in the instant before he was greedily swallowing him down. Combined with the sound that James made - all heat and unabashed want - Francis could no longer ignore the insistent press of his own prick against the front of his breeches. He freed himself with trembling hands, only to find James’s fingers wrapped around him in an instant, stroking the length of him slow and deliberate, with the measured care that only a long-time lover would know.

“Christ, Francis, you need to feel his tongue,” James groaned as he thrust forward into Henry’s waiting mouth, deep enough to cause him to cough and swallow and then finally, take him to the root. He lingered there only a moment, eyes darkened with lust as he peered down at his friend, watched how Henry’s face flushed hot at being used so openly. James’ long fingers caressed Henry’s pretty, flushed cheek and then threaded through his hair, pulling him off of his cock with a wet, pleasured sound, and guided him instead toward Francis. “There, Dundy,” he murmured, “Open up. Be a good sport and show him how capable you are with that wicked mouth of yours…”

Henry seemed to consider protesting James’ wording - if only for the sake of preserving what shreds of dignity he believed himself to still be holding on to - but a light tug of his hair had his words dying in his throat in favor of a soft moan. Francis seized the opportunity, pushing his thumb against Henry’s mouth, easing between his lips to press down against his teeth and his tongue, urging his mouth open. God, but he was handsome, all swollen lips and dark, half-lidded eyes as he gazed up at Francis, whose hand quickly took the place of James’s own in Henry’s soft, greying curls, drawing him in closer. “That’s it lad,” Francis muttered, smirking as he pressed forward, the tip of his leaking prick leaving a sticky trail along Henry’s lips and tongue, “You’ll have to open up wider for me, won’t you?”

To his surprise, Henry nodded obediently, dipping his head to lick a wet line from the base of Francis’s cock to the very tip before that hot mouth wrapped around his girth, swallowing him down in one go. The eagerness in and of itself had Francis shivering, hips jerking forward, seeking out more of that utterly delicious sensation. Beside them James had taken himself in hand, leaning into Francis’s side, seemed enraptured by the sight of them. “God, but you two are a vision…” he breathed, teeth catching his lower lip as he reached out with his free hand, pressing his fingertips to the hollow of Henry’s cheek, and moaning aloud at the realization that he could feel Francis’s prick sliding in and out of his friend’s mouth. “How does he feel, Francis? Tell me…”

“Incredible,” Francis managed, as his hand slid down to rest against the nape of Henry’s neck, holding him there and shamelessly fucking into his waiting mouth. Henry’s jaw went slack, breathing heavily through his nose and accommodating each deep thrust, eyes closed as if nothing had ever felt so good. His own trousers were open, his hand shoved down the front of them as he sought some relief of his own, and it was that sight that had Francis hurriedly squeezing at Henry’s shoulder in warning as the sudden rush of arousal brought him dangerously close to his climax.

He pulled back just quickly enough to spend across Henry’s cheek and tongue as the younger man knelt, open-mouthed and gazing up at him in want. James reached between them to stroke him through the last spasms, until he was trembling from overstimulation and had to swat his hand away. Francis watched, enraptured, as Henry swallowed - twice, hard - and couldn’t keep himself from reaching out, scooping his fingers through the sticky mess striping his cheek, feeding it back into Henry’s greedy mouth. An idea struck him then, a sudden pressing thought that could not be ignored. As he withdrew his wet, slick fingers, rather than wiping them on his trousers - which would need to be laundered now, there was no avoiding it - he instead eased his hand down under the waistband of James’s own breeches, over the swell of his arse and between his cheeks.

James’s eyes widened, a strangled gasp torn from his mouth, and though it was unexpected, there was little hesitation before he was widening his stance, pushing back against the smooth rub of Francis’s fingers along his rim. Francis, meanwhile, had not stopped watching Henry, and as their eyes met, he gave him a meaningful look, inclining his head toward James wordlessly.

No words were needed. In the same instant that he pressed inside of James’s willing body, Henry’s lips wrapped around his aching cock, and James cried out, caught between the two of them and torn about which pleasure to chase. Francis moved to steady him, his other arm wrapping around James’s waist as he worked his fingers in and out, deeper each time, until he could curl them just so. The result was a sharp jerk of his hips, another sweet, desperate cry, and before him, Henry coughed and swallowed hard and then redoubled his efforts. In a matter of seconds, they’d reduced James to a trembling, whimpering mess, rocking back onto Francis’s fingers and forward, into the welcoming, wet heat. The only warning that he gave of his impending crisis was a single, sharp cry before his hips bucked forward, and he flooded Henry’s mouth, his spend dribbling down his chin as Henry jerked back and quickly swallowed as much as he could manage.

For a minute, the drawing room was filled with the sounds of labored breathing, the ruffle of clothing being righted. As Francis moved to fall back onto the sofa, James sank to his knees, greedily pulling Henry forward into a kiss, and he watched, his chest swelling with warmth at the sight of them - young, beautiful, flushed and disheveled. That James had allowed this, encouraged it even, was beyond what any lover could possibly ask for. He’d thank him, later, pull him into bed and kiss him breathless and let him know just how much he was adored.

“Do you need—?” James was asking, and Henry cut him off with another brief kiss, shaking his head as he pulled back.

“No, I’m afraid the sight of you both was too much to bear,” Henry chuckled, his voice rough - his throat would be sore come morning, but the act had been well worth the ache. “Though I may need to borrow a pair of your trousers, Jas, or I might offend on my journey home.” He gestured pointedly to the wet spot where he’d wiped his hand, and James snorted, playfully slapping his thigh.

“I could spare a pair come morning,” he offered, easing to his feet, and offering Henry a hand. He’d turned his head to look at Francis, wordlessly seeking approval for what he intended to offer next. Francis nodded, despite the jealousy he’d once harbored at the very idea of this man touching his lover. “I…that is, well,  _ we _ …were quite hoping that you might stay tonight.”

Rising shakily to his feet, his legs gone numb from kneeling, Henry looked between the two of them incredulously, and then, slowly, he nodded. “I doubt I am in any shape to be out walking the streets at this hour,” he agreed, only once he’d seen the clear acceptance written on Francis’s face. Their eyes met, and his lips spread into a grin. “And besides. That gives us the opportunity to discuss James’ sordid fantasies, doesn’t it? I say, Francis, has he ever told you about the time—”

“Dundy, don’t you  _ dare _ —”

“—that he asked for my fingers alongside my prick, insatiable creature that he is?”

At that Francis’s eyes widened, and he looked between the two of them - Henry all kinds of smug, and James blushing to the tips of his ears. It was a particularly good look for his lover, one that he was not opposed to seeing more of. “Did he now?” Francis asked, slowly easing to his feet, his grin mirroring Henry’s own, as he ushered the two of them toward the stairs. “I would love to hear all about it, though perhaps that’s a conversation best had after we wash up and get settled in bed, hm?”

With James between them in the comfort of their bed a short while later, it was a story that Henry told with gusto, one that James refuted (even if his blush gave him away), and Francis stored away for later use.

They had the morning to themselves, after all, with nowhere to go, and all of the time in the world for fantasies.


End file.
